


labyrinth

by sinequanon



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Feral Peter, Goblins, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 19:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10600362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: Stiles prefers goblins to werewolves. Except maybe Peter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because I wanted to write a fic with goblins that weren't evil (98% of popular culture), or bankers (Harry Potter), and the only other goblins I could think of were the insane but surprisingly cute goblins of _Labyrinth_ , so here we are.

“So we’re looking for a short, ugly guy that likes to eat babies?” Isaac scrunched his face in distaste.

“No,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time during this conversation. Sometimes, it amazed her that any of the pack had managed to survive into adulthood. “The Goblin King only takes that which is freely given.”

“People give away babies?” Scott sounded horrified.

“No, Scott,” Stiles chimed in, shooting a commiserating look at Lydia. Neither of them could believe, ninety minutes in, that they were still having this conversation. “You should know better than to what's in a hunter's journal. The Goblin King doesn't steal people at all--sometimes people asked the Goblin King to take their children to his castle in the hopes that he would give them better lives. Of course, sometimes he’d take people whose families didn't deserve them; which was probably where the hunter thing started.”

“So he doesn't eat the babies?”

Lydia sighed like simply being in the room with the two of them pained her. “He doesn't steal or eat babies. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Then what is he doing in Beacon Hills?” Scott asked, confused.

Isaac smirked. “Maybe he's here to answer our prayers and steal Stiles away.”

“It would be a simple way to get rid of him,” Jackson agreed enthusiastically, barely dodging Lydia’s slap. “How do we do this? Do we need to light some incense or something, or just ask him to take Stilinski away?”

Stiles glared, but said nothing. It would serve them right if he left, and he might live longer if he went to stay in the Goblin Kingdom.

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Allison soothed, glaring at Isaac and Jackson from across the room. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

Less than twelve hours later, Stiles Stilinski vanished from his bedroom in the middle of the night. The Sheriff never declared Stiles missing (claiming instead that Stiles had gone to stay with a distant relative) but the steel in his eyes every time he looked at one of members of the pack told them everything they need to know.

Neither he nor the Goblin King is ever seen in Beacon Hills again.

<> <>

Peter runs.

He's not sure why he's running, or where he's going, but he trusts his wolf to lead them somewhere safe. He vaguely remembers being with Derek and Cora, but he thinks it's been awhile--weeks, maybe months--since he’s seen them. He thinks it's been months since he's seen most everything, but with the throbbing in his head, he can't be sure of anything right now. Peter can barely see, barely smell with whatever drugs are in his system, but his wolf doesn’t hesitate as they move through the trees, and Peter lets himself drift knowing that things will be better the next time he’s in control.

<> <>

It was a gross understatement to say that Stiles was no longer fond of werewolves, at least of the Beacon Hills variety. He didn't want to see them, he didn't want to talk to them, and he didn't want to talk about them. For all that Isaac and Jackson’s stupidity had ultimately worked in his favor, it didn't mean that Stiles wouldn't shoot them full of wolfsbane (or sic goblins on them) if he ever saw them again.

That said, he definitely didn't want any unconscious werewolves laying on his porch when he got home from running errands, either.

(Honestly, he didn't want any unconscious people on his porch, ever, but werewolves were particularly problematic considering his past experiences and current opinions of them.)

He recognized the wolf almost immediately, and after a (highly warranted) minute of hesitation, he stepped forward to get a better look at his visitor. Lots of questions raced through his mind: Did Scott send him? Was Scott the one to hurt him? How the hell did Peter find him? Why would Peter _want_ to find him?

Peter, unfortunately, wasn't in any kind of condition to answer any of his questions, so Stiles had to decide quickly how to deal with this unexpected problem on the off chance that someone or something else came calling. The werewolf’s clothes were torn, and he was covered in dirt and muck, and he reminded Stiles uncomfortably of himself after the nogitsune incident.

After a moment of wistfully hoping that Peter was simply the product of an exhausted mind and a couple of exaggerated blinks, Stiles sighed and put his questions aside for the time being. He might not want Peter in his home, but he wasn't about to let the guy die on his porch, either. After all, they had almost been friends once, and probably would have been if the Hales hadn't left town right after the fight with the alpha pack.

(Stiles had spent more than one night wandering the halls of the castle, wondering if things would have been different if the Hales had been in town when Jareth came to visit, or if anyone would come looking for him. No one ever did.)

Stiles threw his door open and tossed his things inside before hooking his arms under Peter and dragging him inside the house. As soon as Peter’s feet cleared the threshold, Stiles took a moment to glance outside for anything that might have followed the wolf before closing the door with a thunk.

If the state of Peter’s clothes was any indication, the wolf had been running for awhile. But, he was breathing and seemed to have no mortal wounds, so Stiles left Peter lying on the floor while he changed his own clothes and started on dinner.

That done, he hauled the werewolf into the spare bedroom--grumbling about impossibly heavy assholes the whole time--and grabbed some wet towels and the first aid kit from the bathroom.

Even with Stiles stopping halfway through patching Peter up to eat his dinner, it took him nearly three hours get the man looking mostly human again. The majority of his wounds seemed to be healing well, but there was a gash running from his neck to his lower back that had Stiles concerned enough that he actually considered asking his dad to call Deaton on his behalf.

Which was a crazy thought, really, because, a) he wasn't about to risk his dad's safety for Peter Hale, stimulating conversationalist or no; and b) he didn't trust Deaton not to tell Scott that Stiles was back in the real world, so to speak.

He considered trying to track down either Derek or Cora, and have them deal with Peter, but he didn't want to risk the chance that the Hales were in contact with Scott or any of his other former packmates, either.

He was on his own for dealing with this situation, which was great, truly, because being alone with Peter Hale in the middle of nowhere always sounded like a good idea.

<> <>

“Peter! Open your eyes, Peter.”

Peter listened to the voice without opening his eyes, letting it roll over him like a gentle wave. The voice sounded upset, and sort of familiar, but sleep was more enticing, and he let the voice roll over him as he fell back into the darkness.

The next time Peter became aware, it was to the sound of his wolf whining in his head. Concerned, he focused just enough to hear the voice again.

“Damn it, Peter, if you don't wake up I'm going to…”

Peter stopped listening before the end of the threat, but the voice vaguely reminded him of Stiles. It couldn't be Stiles, though, because that idiotic McCall pack had lost him years ago to the Goblin King, of all people.

_As if someone like that would pass up the opportunity to work with someone like Stiles. The imp had made him an irresistible offer, no doubt, and Stiles had been smart enough to accept the deal._

Even if it wasn't Stiles, the voice was nice, and soothing in a way that made him think of pack and home. For a brief moment, Peter wanted to stay where he was, to keep listening to not-Stiles in the dark, but the wolf whined louder in his head, pawing at his insides, and Peter felt himself falling once again.

<> <>

Stiles had seen a lot of strange things in his life, both in Beacon Hills and in the Goblin Kingdom, but he would have bet any amount of money that he would never see Peter Hale acting like an overactive puppy, rolling around on his bed, tearing the blankets, and vigorously chewing on the pillows.

This was not (by any stretch of the imagination) Peter-like behavior, and Stiles would admit that he was more than a little alarmed by the situation. Peter had never been openly playful, and Stiles had a feeling that Peter's wolf had never been particularly carefree, either, so…

The wolf’s actions seemed to belie that belief, however, because Peter had just discovered the feathers in the pillows, and looked about ready to scatter them everywhere when Stiles cleared his throat. "Please don't," he asked firmly, hoping that the wolf could understand him. "It will take me forever to clean that up."

Peter's head whipped up, and Stiles barely had time to ponder his impending death by mauling before the other man leaped off of the bed and onto Stiles, sending both of them to the floor. Rather than biting him, however, the werewolf simply collapsed onto Stiles--almost completely covering him--and shoved his face into the younger man's neck.

Stiles froze, listening for growling and waiting for pain, but Peter simply became dead weight and continued pressing the younger man further into the carpet.

“Peter?” Stiles asked breathlessly. “Can you hear me?” He managed to wiggle one arm free and awkwardly started patting Peter's back to get his attention. The werewolf froze at the touch, and when Peter lifted his head, the wolf’s beta blue eyes were staring back at him.

“Peter?”

The wolf huffed.

“So...not Peter right now. Is Peter okay?” The wolf shook slightly under his hand, but Stiles kept petting. “Are you okay?”

Another huff, more exasperated this time, followed by the reintroduction of Peter’s face into Stiles's neck.

Okay, then. Stiles just hoped that the wolf would let him up before all his limbs went to sleep.

(He didn't.)

<> <>

Sometimes, Stiles really regretted not staying longer with his Uncle Jareth. He loved his dad more than anything, but coming back to this realm was so much trouble. He should have been designing new challenges for the maze right now, not playing babysitter to a feral Peter Hale.

It wasn't all that bad. Peter’s wolf was surprisingly adorable and reminded Stiles a lot of an inquisitive toddler. He was energetic, mostly good-natured, and loved to crawl all over Stiles like the younger man was his own personal jungle gym. Which, considering Stiles and human Peter were basically the same size, would be a little awkward for Stiles if Peter tried to crawl into Stiles's lap when he wasn't a wolf. If Stiles didn't know any better, he’d think the wolf was scenting him.

That wasn't to say that Peter was never in human form; in fact, he was in human form most of the time, which just made his antics seem even more ridiculous. Stiles hadn't slept alone since Peter had woken up a week ago, and had all but given up showering alone after the third time a fully-clothed Peter had crawled in after him. The wolf had also opened every single cabinet in the kitchen, spent a suspicious amount of time in the back of Stiles's closet, and enthusiastically chased rabbits in the garden.

Two weeks into Peter's stay, his physical wounds had all healed, but the wolf was still in control. Stiles had done as much research as he could without reaching out to anyone, but he was no closer to bringing human Peter back then he had been in the beginning.

As fond as he was becoming of the wolf, though, it wasn't fair to either of them to get used to this situation; something needed to be done.

<> <>

“Hello, you.”

The Goblin King appeared between one breath and the next, the handful of goblins hanging onto his coat immediately spreading out to explore “their” Stiles's new home. Almost immediately, there was a thump, a snarl, and a whine, and Peter walked into the room with Sam and Feathers each holding onto a leg with surprising tenacity.

“Guys, be nice,” the young man warned the goblins as the wolf rushed to put himself between Stiles and Jareth, while Stiles tried to get around him to speak to his godfather.

“Can you fix him?” he asked, attempting to both look around Peter and dodge Bug’s attempt at jumping onto his shoulder. The littlest goblin had fallen three times already, cackling delightedly at each failed attempt. He tried once more before a glare from his king sent him scurrying away.

“Certainly.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

Jareth looked from Peter, who had mostly calmed down, to Stiles, who had managed to work his way up next to the wolf and was running a soothing hand along the other man's forearm. “Do you want me to?” he asked frankly.

Jareth had seen firsthand how much losing the werewolves had hurt Stiles, though he had tried hard not to show it, and knew precisely how long it had taken for Jareth and Stiles's father to convince the young man to return to the human world after all his time away. This feral wolf was no doubt much easier for Stiles to deal with than the man behind the visage (and all that he represented). To the King’s mind, there was no need for this man to recover if it brought harm to his godson.

Stiles would have a place of honor in Goblin Kingdom someday, but only after he had lived his life in the human world, first. But to live here, he needed to let go of the past.

How troubling, then, that a piece of that past was currently staying in his home.

Jareth was more than willing to make the problem disappear entirely if Stiles so desired. “I can simply wish him away, if you’d like,” he reminded the young man when Stiles didn't immediately answer.

“No. For whatever reason, Peter, or his wolf, anyway, trusted me enough to find me. As much as it hurt when no one came looking before...it's not like I was great friends with Hales when it happened. If anyone, Scott should have come looking for me.”

There was a huge crash in the kitchen, followed by muffled giggling.

“Help him, please. And maybe stop him if he tries to rip my throat out?” Stiles added, even as the wolf grabbed his arm to prevent the human from investigating the disturbance in the kitchen.

“As you wish.”

<> <>

The first thing Peter noticed was the scent of _StilesandPeter_ everywhere, and he breathed in deeply without even thinking about it, taking in the comforting scent. It was even better than hearing Stiles's voice in his sleep.

“Peter? Can you hear me?”

Peter's eyes fluttered open at the unexpected sound. “Stiles?” he asked, eyes darting around until he caught sight of the young man sitting beside the bed. “What--”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Peter stared at Stiles, certain that he would vanish at any moment. “I got separated from Derek and Cora,” he said slowly. “There were hunters.” The werewolf wanted to ask the younger man to come closer, but Stiles's heart was beating fast enough as it was, leaving Peter both concerned and confused. When Stiles neither disappeared nor moved, the older man added, “I've missed you.”

Stiles jerked as if struck, and Peter was up and pulling Stiles toward him before his brain caught up with his body. “Those idiots were fools to let you go,” he snarled, pinning Stiles against his chest for a few minutes before letting him go. “When we went back...we only found out what had happened from Deaton. By that time, you’d lived _there_ for so long already; the Sheriff told us to leave you be.”

“You came to me.”

At Peter's questioning look, Stiles added, “I came home one day and you were lying on my porch. I thought about leaving you there.”

“I'm glad you didn't.”

“Yeah, well--”

There was streak of movement out of the window in the corner of his eye, and Peter threw himself over Stiles just as a bullet ripped through the window. The werewolf growled, torn between protecting Stiles and tracking the threat. Before he could make up his mind, though, there was a scream, and a thud, and the hunter was gone.

Will you let me up, now?” Stiles asked, disgruntled, and Peter reluctantly shifted out of the way. He pressed a hand into the small of Stiles's back, though, unwilling to completely give up contact.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn't make the werewolf move his hand.

“Popcorn, get in here!” the young man yelled, and a few seconds later, Peter could hear the patter of feet against the floor.

“What the--” Peter began, just as a goblin-shaped cannonball thrust itself onto the bed next to the two men.

“Hyah!” the goblin chittered as he deftly crawled onto Stiles's head and then twisted to look directly into the young man's eyes. Peter blinked.

“Did you get him?” Stiles asked the goblin.

“Hyah.”

“Are there more?”

“Nnn,” the goblin reassured, before turning to glare at Peter.

“Are you here to chaperone?” he asked drily. “Am I going to have bodyguards, now?”

The goblin giggled. “Hyah. Hyah.”

Stiles sighed. “Great.”

<> <>

Hours later, after a rousing game of hunt-the-goblin to see exactly how many visitors were currently hiding on the property, the two men curled up on the couch and Peter asked about his time in the Goblin Kingdom.

“Jackson and Isaac wishing me away didn't really do anything, you know, other than remind me of how little I wanted to stay in Beacon Hills. Dad would've sent me to stay with Jareth again eventually anyway,” he explained. “The pack just sped up the process.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully, but didn't look relieved by Stiles's explanation. “You’ll be pleased to know that Cora attacked Jackson when she found out, while Derek just glared Isaac into submission. I believe Lydia videotaped the entire ordeal.” Peter shifted so that Stiles leaned further into his side, and glanced over to find a goblin staring at him from the arm of the chair. Peter bared his teeth at it, only to be answered with uncontrollable giggles. “I find it hard to believe that such a fearsome king has such silly subjects.”

Stiles grinned and shrugged. “I was six when I decided to give them all names, but they're the ones that like to try and live up to them. He doesn't act like it, of course, but Jareth thinks it's hilarious.”

“I'm sure,” Peter said drily. “You know, Derek and Cora would be happy to see you again,” he ventured, after a few more minutes. “If you were interested in finding them.”

The younger man paused long enough for one of the goblins to crawl into his lap and start demanding attention, obviously trying to distract Stiles from his thoughts.

“Can I think about it?” he asked eventually, and Peter smiled.

“Of course. I'm not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem "Winter Dusk" by Walter de la Mare.
> 
> Next week: a crossover fic featuring Derek/Stiles, and the first chapter in my three chapter Bleach fic.
> 
> See you then, and thanks for reading!


End file.
